A Guinea Pig and a Naked Mole Rat Walk Into a Bar
by Random Ruth
Summary: Castiel has the weapon to end all war on Earth, and there's no question that he'll use it. A prediction for the end of season nine, so beware spoilers. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** I have assembled all evidence, and this is what I believe is going to happen at the end of season nine. It makes total sense to me. I came up with this final solution while texting Ashley – she agrees with my season nine forecast.

* * *

**A Guinea Pig and a Naked Mole Rat Walk Into a Bar...**

* * *

"Why have you gathered us all here, Castiel?" asked Gadreel. He sounded genuinely confused.

Castiel had sent out a message on Angel Radio; _I am here_. Within hours the leaders of the angelic factions were converging on the derelict public house that the message had originated from. When Malachi had burst in through the door, knocking it clean off its rusted hinges, he was the first to see Castiel calmly waiting for him. As other angels from other factions had arrived, voices had risen and blades had been waved around. Amidst this, Castiel had simply sat on a barstool that looked about to collapse, and watched.

At Gadreel's question, Castiel got up from his stool and jumped up onto the bar. The woodworm-infested wood creaked under the angel's weight, but he was not to be deterred. Every angel stopped their squabbling to see what Castiel would do next – except Metatron, who inspected his vessel's nails with a bored expression.

Clearing his throat, Castiel began, "Today I vow to end this war. No more bloodshed, no more division. The pointless killing will stop here, with me."

He reached into his coat pocket. Every angel (except Metatron, who was still bored with the whole thing) tensed, expecting a trap – this was the great Castiel, after all.

Slowly, Castiel pulled his hand out of his pocket. It was clamped around something tan and furry. It was making a funny noise. Castiel raised his hand above his head confidently. When none of the angels seemed to be killing each other anymore, Castiel allowed himself a small satisfied smile.

The guinea pig's nose twitched.

Metatron recoiled in horror.

"It's... so..." Malachi breathed; his eyes wide as he stared at the bundle of fluff.

"...Adorable," Metatron finished for him.

"Aww, look at its little nose!" cooed another angel in the small crowd.

"It's got feet!"

"It makes my vessel feel tingly!"

"Ooh, I just want to eat it up!"

"It has a pleasant aroma," said Gadreel, smiling.

"I cannot possibly allow anything bad to happen to this planet if guinea pigs live here," Metatron announced.

"No harm must come to the home of the guinea pigs!" declared Malachi with a passion. The crowd murmured its agreement.

"The Earth is key to the survival of the guinea pig!" a female angel in the back of the room pointed out.

"So no more fighting," Castiel spoke up, "today we honour the guinea pig!"

The angels cheered and sang, and passed the guinea pig amongst themselves. It received many heavenly cuddles. Before the angels left, they promised Castiel they'd stop killing each other and start a giant heavenly guinea pig sanctuary. Castiel was welcome to visit any time.

Getting the guinea pig returned to his pocket proved difficult.

* * *

Castiel's other pocket continued to squirm as he descended the creaky stairs to the bar's dank basement. "I see you've received my message," he said as a greeting.

Abbadon and Crowley stood as far apart as they could, glaring daggers at one another. Abbadon was wearing a sash over her meat-suit's shoulder, saying, 'Abbadon for President', and decorated with the stars and stripes that symbolised America. Crowley's suit was very expensive and Castiel thought it smelled funny.

"I'm in the middle of a very important election campaign," snapped Abbadon. "What's this about?"

"If this is about that time I burned your tie... well, it wasn't me! The lighter slipped, that's all," said Crowley.

"You do not need an election campaign—" Castiel started.

"We do!" insisted Crowley.

"You—" Castiel tried again.

"We don't!" said Abbadon.

"Do!" Crowley shouted back.

"Don't!"

"Do!"

"Don't!"

"Do!"

"Don't – because I'll win anyway, you slimy—"

"Do – because I wanted to give you a sporting chance before I smashed your pretty little head in, ya slag!"

"_You!_" Abbadon raged. "You with your expensive silk tie I could just throttle you with!"

"You're one to talk, you and your pink lipstick!" Crowley spat.

"Oh, you _so_ did not go there!" fumed Abbadon. "It's not pink; it's made from the blood of lesser demons, you pit pony!"

"I'm a pit stallion if I'm anything, love!" Crowley informed her with a smirk.

"_Enough!_" Castiel shouted as loudly as his vessel would allow him, which was quite loudly indeed.

Abbadon stopped punching Crowley in the face. "What is it, angel? Can't you see the grown-ups are negotiating here?"

Crowley, from where he was lying on the floor and coughing blood, gave Castiel a thumbs-up gesture – only he was using his middle finger.

Castiel frowned. "That's not how you make a thumbs-up sign," he said, and demonstrated. "It helps to smile as well."

"Oh, you twat..." Crowley groaned.

"You _do not_ need an election campaign," Castiel continued, doggedly attempting to get this meeting back on track, "as I have the solution to your problems." He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a squirming thing. He held it high so the abominations could get a good look at it.

Abbadon and Crowley were silent, gaping in awe at the creature in Castiel's hand. The naked mole rat didn't do much, only squirm.

"It looks like a tumour, a beautiful tumour..." said Crowley.

"It has an amazingly crafted face. Just look at those wrinkles!" Abbadon squeaked.

"A fatal tumour," continued Crowley, starstruck, tears forming in his eyes.

"It's so cute! Can I pet it?" asked Abbadon. Castiel nodded, and handed her the naked mole rat. She lovingly cuddled it. "I love those teeth. We simply can't destroy a world that is home to such beauty as this," Abbadon said.

Crowley nodded, "I agree, darling. Such infinite beauty as what this creature has... we can't destroy it."

Abbadon and Crowley agreed to be guardians of the naked mole rat and returned to Hell. They kept several as pets in Hell. In ten years' time, Hellhairlessrodents had already replaced the Hellhounds, and were busy collecting souls that had been promised in deals.

* * *

Castiel let himself into the Men of Letters bunker. Sam and Dean were sitting at one of the tables; Sam tapping away on his laptop, Dean nursing a beer with his feet up. "Hey, Cas," Dean greeted him.

"Hello, Dean. Sam," Castiel said pleasantly.

As he approached the table, Dean noticed something. "Why is your coat wriggling?"

Castiel put his hands into his pockets and pulled out the guinea pig and the naked mole rat, holding them up. Dean spat out his beer at the sight of the naked mole rat. "What the hell is that? It looks like a living peni—"

Sam cleared his throat very loudly.

"—with teeth."

"You need not worry, the war is over," Castiel said proudly, returning the rodents to their pockets. He gave Dean a the-world-is-safe thumbs-up, using his middle finger.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
